Tag Archives: Bad

Who Needs Memory Anyway?

“Clumps of dainty silver bones

Mixed amidst the silent stones

Are bathed not in blood or tears

But in the light of yesteryears.”

I don’t know the meaning of that verse,

If it be blessing or a curse,

But it’s tattooed on my forehead

Which is why I no longer drink before bed.

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Never Thought I’d Miss “Does This Dress Make Me Look Fat?” But Alas…

“If I were a pickled spleen

Kept in a jar for 30 years

Charged with electrical current

In a chamber full of your darkest fears,

Then released from the jar on a Sunday

And carried overseas by some birds

To attend celebrations in Istanbul

Would you still kiss me afterwards?”

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Nice Weather For Post-Commute Shenanigans 

The air was warm and friendly,

The sun a gentle golden light,

And the dirt was easily shoveled

Upon the corpse of the guy who passed me on the right.

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Whose Phone Is This? (Aka The White-Guy-Alone-On-The-Bus-In-Harlem Song)

Whose phone is this

That disturbs my rest,

Who informs its master

By beeping?

Its constant noise

Does so make me stressed

For one minute ago

I was sleeping.

This, this

Is the white guy’s phone

Which disturbs your sleep

Via default tone.

This guy

Will be lain to rest

At the mortuary of Saint Mary.

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Evidence For Those In Support Of The Belief That Puns Are The Lowest Form Of Humor

Sometimes I take a bath

To ease the stress of taxation.

I fill the tub with herbs

Such as thyme for relaxation.

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Guess What I Did This Afternoon!

When arguing online you do

Your foe may fail to convince you,

May reject logic, spew rhetoric,

And end up looking pathetic,

May cite false studies, make up a fact,

Surrender any façade of tact,

May display no virtue and every sin,

But alas, my friend, you still won’t win. 

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Dear Fellow Drivers, Stanzas 1-3 of 666

I love you

Like I love early mornings,

Like the smell of microwaveable cuisine,

Like a secondhand q-tip,

Like stainable steel,

Like the dry-mouth aftertaste of human spleen.

I love you

Like Jew’s love the early 40’s,

Like nudists love Alaskan Winter nights.

I love you like a river

Loves the absence of nearby bathrooms,

Like Congress loves supporting individual rights.

I love you

Like Chris Brown loves Rihanna,

Like hot girls like short, polite, low-income men.

I love you

Like babies like international flights,

Like when your cellmate winks and  says “hey babe, I’m Ben.” 

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